


wonderful

by requin_renard



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, First kiss fluff, M/M, One Shot, good old 'let me clean that drink off you' content, haddock simps, lots of blushing gays, pure fluff, tintin is a cheeky boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28701282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/requin_renard/pseuds/requin_renard
Summary: Castafiore convinces Haddock to let her use Moulinsart to host a party. The Captain takes a moment alone for some quiet and a drink or two, but that boy always seems to come back to him.Pure gentle first kiss fluff.
Relationships: Archibald Haddock/Tintin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	wonderful

Haddock stared out of the top floor windows of Moulinsart, scowling at the slowing stream of cars dripping in through the gates and up the drive. Each new set of headlights glared out of the looming darkness like the eyes of an unwelcome beast. He silently thanked Nestor for his dutiful hosting at the front door; he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less than greet pompous bourgeoisie and pretend to be pleased to see them. The clock told him it was barely nine and he groaned, necking the dregs of his glass of whisky and quickly reaching for the decanter on the sideboard for another.

He hated going to parties, let alone hosting them. Too much noise, too many voices, and shoes tracking mud into his lovely thick carpets. Far too much laughter and far too much fun.

*

“Oh please? Not even for me?” Castafiore had trilled when he initially (and incredibly hastily) declined to host her Brussels gala. She offered to pay for everything: the band, the catering, the merry gang of teenaged serving staff she would glean from the city to carry trays of champagne and trussed canapés, in exchange for using Moulinsart as her hosting spot for the evening. She had collected many sparkling friends in high places throughout her career, the Belgian Prime Minister amongst them, and wanted to throw an equally sparkling gala to catch up with and impress, all of them at once. “Oh Captain Hamhock, but you won’t have to pay for a thing!” she wheedled.

“No, no, no!” he barked. “Didn’t you hear me, woman? I’d rather eat my foot!”

“Now, come Captain, that’s not very kind, is it?” someone said very measuredly. “Maybe you should think about it a little longer.” An irritatingly serene voice piped up from the corner. He turned with a huff to the small figure buried in a newspaper beside the fireplace. It uncrossed and recrossed its legs pointedly and looked at him from over the pages. “Think of the fun we’d have!”

“Don’t you start chewing my ear off too. I’ve had enough of the lot of you tonight,” the Captain muttered. Tintin gave him an indulgent smile.

“I mean, it’s up to you, of course,” he said, ever the excruciating diplomat. “It’s your home. But I think it would be lovely,” the boy beamed to the haughty looking woman who was wringing her wrists and looking harassed. “Maybe the Captain should wait until tomorrow to answer, and sleep on it?” he offered. Castafiore nodded eagerly and looked instantly triumphant.

“Of course, of course!” she trilled and rushed over to the sailor, kissing his cheeks vigorously. “Oh, my sweet lovely Bastork, I knew you wouldn’t let me down!”

“Excuse me! I haven’t managed to say a damn thing yet!” Haddock protested on deaf ears. The large woman hurtled out of the room excitedly, screeching at her maid to grab her notebook, for they must start The Planning imminently. “Blistering barnacles!” he paced up and down on the rug and muttered under his breath, his fists clenching in his pockets. “Well, thank you for your _wonderful_ support.”

The face in the corner appeared saintly over the top of the newspaper. “Oh lighten up, Captain! You always gripe and then have the best time. It’ll be great fun.”

“Great fun, great fun!” he cursed. “My idea of great fun is being dumped on a tiny island with only a radio and a nice big bottle of Loch Lomond to keep me company.” The captain sighed and reached for his pipe. “Come on, Snowy,” he called to the small white dog curled up on the hearth rug. “Let's go for a walk. You’re my only _true_ friend around here. This blistering nest of serpents.”

As he stalked out of the drawing-room, he was very sure to give the smirking figure the sourest expression he could draw up, who simply laughed warmly in response.

However irritated he felt in that moment he knew he could not turn down any wish that came from that boy. Tintin had well and truly cracked through the salted crust the sailor had cultivated around himself and Haddock would sooner lose a finger than say no to him. Ever since they’d met, he felt an unyielding softness towards him. There was not much he wouldn’t do. The next morning over breakfast he had begrudgingly told the Italian that he would let her use the châteaux for the party. She had left her scarlet lipstick all over his face in her gratitude.

*

“Thundering typhoons, another five hours of this, and that’s if I’m lucky,” he chattered to himself, vigorously swilling the brown liquid around the cut crystal glass. He watched the drink spiral, wishing he could dive in and be washed away. The strains of the jazz band downstairs floated up the staircase and along the hall, tunefully asking him to return. He frowned resolutely and turned his back on it.

“I thought I’d find you in here,” the light step of highly polished brown shoes clacked against the parquet of the floor, followed by the skittering of four canine paws. Haddock had bristled for a moment, thinking it was a stray party goer, but relaxed on glancing over his shoulder and seeing his friend. A warm feeling flooded into his gut and he felt his cheeks tingle.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Haddock sighed in relief. “I needed to er… to check on something,” He gestured vaguely and put the whisky glass back onto the sideboard. He hated the side glances Tintin always seemed to give him when he saw him with a glass in hand. He saw them even when the latter clearly assumed he was being covert. It made his dirty habit feel even filthier.

“Castafiore is looking for you, you know.” the younger man announced mildly. Haddock rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers on the sideboard looking irate.

“Well I’m certainly not looking for her,” he muttered. “I let her throw my doors open to any old fool wrapped in silk and a pretentious name, the least she can do is leave me alone for a bit.” Tintin gave him a warm smile and slipped his hand into the crook of his elbow. He squeezed gently. Haddock’s breath caught slightly in his throat.

“Don’t worry,” Tintin divulged. “I told her I’d seen you going round the back with your pipe,” he gave a mischievous grin. “That should keep her busy for a little while.”

“Oh, most excellent news!” Haddock wiped his brow with his pocket-handkerchief and turned to the younger man. He was positively shining, face flushed with excitement and a glass of champagne. Haddock was so used to seeing him frowning, working through the next move of a criminal, or staring down the sights of a rifle. Carefree youth looked beautiful on him.“Well, this was all your idea,” Haddock held his hands out with a wide gesture. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Tintin nodded eagerly, “Oh, lots, Captain! I love occasions like these, rubbing shoulders with such important and glamorous people. And they all want to talk to me too!”

“Of course they do,” Haddock replied. “You’re the jewel of Brussels, or something equally flashy. I spotted the Prime Minister making a beeline to you as soon as he arrived. And those pretty Italian nieces of the old Milanese Nightingale. They looked _very_ keen for you to lend an ear.” Tintin flushed slightly and pulled away, rubbing Snowy’s ears.

“Oh shush,” he muttered, scratching the mutt’s chin. “I’m just the latest exciting thing of the season. I’m sure a cat will learn Latin very soon and knock me off my spot. Perhaps we should teach Snowy German and get in there first.”

“Nonsense,” Haddock reached for a sip of his drink. He was wary of the younger man eyeing him from the corner of his sight, but this was a special occasion. By thunder, he knew he’d need at least three more glasses to make it to the end regardless. Especially with Tintin walking about dressed to the nines and sparkling like a sunbeam. “You’re excellent with the public – you’re adored! They’ve practically been tripping over themselves to get a word in. Everyone’s eyes are always on you at these sort of bashes, you’re a master of social etiquette. Not like me, running off at the first chance.”

Tintin shrugged, looking bashful. “Talking to people is my job,” he replied. “Everyone has a great story or an adventure to share. You just have to spend some time listening to them.” His shy tone made something ache very deep in Haddock’s chest. Sometimes he wondered if the boy really had any idea of how highly revered he was by the world. He simply breezed from one heroic venture to another with no backward glances, always looking onwards to the next one. He was introspective only when it came to his nearest and dearest. Haddock wondered what went on in the depths of his mind under all that still water.

“Speaking of talking,” Haddock took another conscious sip of his drink to lessen this strange feeling inside him. “Why are you still up here? I’m sure there are far more fun people to be conversing with than this old sea dog. You can talk to me any old time – go and have fun! Isn’t that what youth is for?”

“I _am_ enjoying myself,” the younger man gave his dog a final fuss and straightened up. He brushed down his trousers, avoiding Haddock’s gaze. “Up here. It’s rather lonely downstairs without you.”

“What?” Haddock clapped him on the shoulder and laughed boisterously to hide the strange wobbling sensation in his gut the words had provoked. “What a load of rubbish. It’s like a tin of sardines down there, how could you ever be lonely? You can barely make it across the dance floor.”

“Well, not all of those people are my friends,” the boy replied earnestly. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his new suit trousers and paced up and down the room looking thoughtful. “I could be in the biggest room in the world and only have you and the Professor and Tchang and Snowy there, all in opposite corners, and I still wouldn’t feel lonely, because you’re all my real, true friends,” He paused and looked up at Haddock with a small smile. “Why do you look so surprised? Haven’t you ever felt like that about people?”

Haddock was lost for words for a moment. Had he? He’d always thought he’d been quite good at building up a rapport. He’d been a good captain before he started leaning on the bottle and his men (usually) respected him and did what he asked. But were they friends of his? He could never have seen himself diving headfirst into danger for them as he did with the boy and Cuthbert. Perhaps only on a solely professional level as their leader. Even though Castafiore made him want to pull his beard hair out and stuff it into his ears, he still supposed deep down he cared for her too.

“Captain?” Tintin’s voice rang out. Haddock jerked back from his thoughts looking puzzled. “Are you alright, Captain?”

“Yes, yes,” he rubbed at his hair and scratched his chin. “I was just thinking.”

“I’ve heard that can be rather dangerous,” the boy quipped with a wink. “So, what do you say?”

“To what?” Haddock frowned.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Tintin laughed. “I asked if you wanted to come back down now? If you’re ready to, of course. There are some fantastic people I want to introduce you to.” Haddock desperately wanted to stay up here, just the two of them, for a second longer. Well, three, counting Snowy, but he didn’t mind him. The wobble in his gut had eked out into a fluttering sensation. Tintin was so close to him he could see the threads in his new jacket, smell the eau de toilette he’d daubed behind his ears.  
The Nightingale had splashed out on new finery for the inhabitants of Moulinsart. Haddock was in thick new tweed, with a fresh silk handkerchief he’d constantly been dabbing his forehead with since the evening began. Tintin was done up in a smart new black tuxedo and looked a picture. The idea of anyone stealing his attention or looking at him in his finery suddenly made the ache in Haddock’s chest worsen.

“Five more minutes,” Haddock waved a hand and sat down heavily in the chair to his left. “Let me just ready myself. Organise the social arsenal, you know.” Tintin nodded, amused, and sat on the floor in front of him. He pulled the dog into his lap, fiddling with the sky blue bow-tie Castafiore had insisted he wear.

“My poor Snowy,” Tintin took off the ribbon for a moment, rubbing at the dog’s neck. “I know you hate collars.” Snowy made a noise of gratitude at the sympathy and leapt off his lap.

“Well, he looked very smart all the while,” Haddock smiled, watching the dog run small circles around his master. A sudden moment of bravery grabbed his gut. “As do you.”

Tintin looked up at the Captain, his cheek flushed. “Ah, _merci_. I rather like your new clothes too.”

“We scrub up well, that’s for sure.” Suddenly awkward at the compliment, Haddock went to quickly drain the glass but missed his mouth. He splashed brown liquid down the front of him, it seeping into the new wool, and cursed loudly. Tintin leapt up with a noise of surprise and Haddock swore again, jumping out of the chair hotly.

“Thundering typhoons, talk about sod’s law,” he grumbled. He started rubbing at the stain with the handkerchief and grew more and more irritated as it seemed to bleed further into the suit jacket “I should never have said a thing!”

“Here, let me,” Tintin moved towards him. He reached for his own new handkerchief in his tuxedo pocket and started to gently dab at the liquid. “Didn’t your _maman_ ever teach you not to scrub at things? It just makes stains harder to shift, you see.” Haddock couldn’t repartee back; he had to focus all his energy on keeping himself breathing properly. They had always been tactile but suddenly the shrunken proximity was all he could think about. He felt as if he was stood on a precipice overhanging a very deep, very dark canyon that he couldn’t see the bottom of. He wheezed slightly and covered it with a hasty cough.

“Captain, are you sure you’re alright?” satisfied his work was done, Tintin pocketed the damp handkerchief. Concerned, he reached up to touch Haddock’s forehead. “You’re rather warm. Maybe you shouldn’t return to the party, I’m sure people would understand...”

Haddock’s mouth was very dry.

“No, no, don’t fret. I’m just a bit overexcited. I’m far too old for things like this,” he forced another rasping, boisterous laugh.

“Well we can’t have you going downstairs like that, anyway, your jacket’s all messed up,” Tintin reached up and smoothed down the Captain’s collar and tie that had been dislodged in the whiskey commotion. “Let me just… sort this...” Haddock felt his small hands linger on the lapels of his jacket. Suddenly they were very very close again. Tintin had trailed off, his hands absent-mindedly resting against the Captain’s shoulders. They stared at each other. Snowy gave an impatient yap but neither of them noticed. Haddock breathed in the scent of his aftershave again.

“Goodness, you smell like a brewery,” Tintin said in a low voice. “How much have you had?”

“Erm, probably enough,” Haddock cleared his throat awkwardly. The band had started up again with gusto downstairs and he could hear people whooping and the sound of hard-soled shoes stampeding to the dance floor. “Dutch courage, or something like that.” he said a little shakily.

“You needed bravery for tonight, hm?” the younger man still hadn’t moved. They were dangerously close, their breath mixing in the tiny space between them. The Captain blinked, unable to think of a response. His mind kept telling him he needed to do something before someone wandered in and saw them. He knew people speculated about what exactly the relationship between the aging bachelor and his young, attractive house guest was. This would not look good on the cover of Paris Flash.

“May..” he swallowed. “Maybe.”

Tintin’s eyes were so blue, so clear. He’d seen them flash in rage, fill with tears and look down the barrel of a gun, staring straight at the reaper himself. They might have been the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The pair remained frozen in the tableau of a half embrace. Haddock’s hands had crept up to rest gently on the other’s back. Tintin’s cheeks were flushed again, rouging out his freckles. Haddock moved his face forward very slowly.

“Er,” he mumbled. Time suddenly seemed to stretch out impossibly long. “Is this…?”

Tintin suddenly leaned upwards and kissed him very gently, very chastely on the mouth, and then moved back.

“Did you mean this?” His face turned a deeper shade of pink. Haddock could feel him trembling but the boy gave him a shy smile. “Because the answer is, yes, I think so.”

Haddock, dumbfounded, simply gazed at him. Tintin cupped his cheek in his own hand for a moment, looking bashfully away at Snowy who had ceased circling them and instead sat waiting at their feet. His head was tilted in a seemingly knowing gesture.

“I hope that was alright.” Tintin said very quietly. Haddock barely heard him.

“It was… it was...” Haddock knew he was being a blundering old fool. He tried to pull himself together. “Sorry, I’m just...” He felt like he was floating off into the abyss. He opened his mouth and tried to say something.

“Have I made a mistake?” Tintin suddenly looked up at him, eyes wide and agitated. Haddock hastily took his hands, squeezing them gently. He inhaled deeply.

“No! Not at all… I just wasn’t… expecting it. That’s all. I didn’t realise that you...”

“Well truthfully, neither did I,” The boy said shyly. “Well, not for a while at least. I think we both always knew that there is something… you know...” he looked bashful again. Tintin was always such a smooth talker, and yet here he was stammering and blushing right in front of him. Haddock felt an enormous ache in his heart again reached around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and kissed him gently on the top of his head.

“I think,” he said meditatively into the red hair. “That we should maybe talk about this… later.” He spoke very slowly. “Perhaps when I’m not soaked in my own booze, rather sloshed and there aren't a hundred very important Europeans in our dining room. Does that sound alright?”

Tintin laughed softly. “Alright, that’s a deal,” his brows drew together suddenly, looking pensive. “But you’re sure that it’s okay?”

“I’ve never been surer than anything else in my life.” The Captain said earnestly. They looked at each other warmly for a moment, their eyes lingering. “What on earth does a boy like you see in someone like me?”

“You sell yourself short. I just think you’re wonderful.”

“Wonderful?”

“That’s the one.” Tintin smiled shyly again. “Wonderful.” Snowy began to yap again and tugged at the laces of Tintin’s shoes. The boy sighed indulgently. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry, boy. Forgive me for neglecting you for a mere five minutes.” he scooped the dog into his arms and refastened the bow tie. “There. Now who’s my smart boy?”

“And so into the lion's den we venture once more, dear friends,” Haddock said wryly. He paused for a moment, listening intently and holding a cupped hand up to his ear theatrically. “Do you hear that?”

“What, the music?”

“Aye. Why on earth is it so far away!” Haddock tugged him towards the door. “Come on, come on! This decrepit old sailor feels a jive coming on.”

“A jive? I don’t I’ve ever seen you dance before!” Tintin laughed aloud in disbelief and let Snowy jump from his arms.

“Well, it seems this is an evening of firsts, doesn’t it?” he replied quietly. The Captain's eyes twinkled in the soft parlor lighting. Tintin’s breath caught in his throat; he’d never seen him look so alive. He could see the new energy fizzing behind the older man’s features like golden champagne bubbles.

He let himself be pulled along, and the trio tripped down the stairs, leaping over slumped drunkards and cosying couples, following the music and picking their way through the sea of moving, fluid bodies.

In the midst of the dance floor, unseen by the rest, a grizzled old sailor in a liquor-smelling suit twirled and linked hands with a young red-headed man, whose blushing cheeks rivaled the glow of pink spring apples. Between their dancing feet, a small white dog yapped excitedly and made pirouettes of his own.

Haddock decided that perhaps he would never feel lonely again.


End file.
